Alley Cat
by Little Green Bird
Summary: AU LP Oneshot - They're two runaway teenagers just trying to survive life on the streets. And even though they hate each other most days, they've only got each other to lean on. Falling for each other wasn't a part of the plan.


**A/N: **_Apparently I can't stay away. Now I'm pretty sure my grades will suffer lol. _

_Anyway. Here's another AU, my first one-shot, and all you need to know is that they're seventeen and this set in no particular place. Everything else is explained in the story. I think I'm becoming a pro at this angst-fluff balance…  
The story title comes from Sherwood's song "Alley Cat"…which has nothing to do with the storyline really. OH! And my favorite character from another show makes a short cameo appearance (one of her moments of glory if you recognize it)…hope you don't mind. Heh._

_Thank You, Enjoy, & Review (please if you're feeling particularly strong about this story)!_

_

* * *

  
_

**Alley Cat**

Black charcoal marks scratch furiously onto the page, darkening the shadow underneath the image. With quick swiping motions, the pad of her middle finger rubs out the rough pencil lines to create a smooth value change. She tucks a curl behind her ear, paying no attention to the smudge left behind on her pale cheek. Then her green eyes narrow in concentration.

An eyebrow arches as she holds out the new piece at arm's length.

Its okay, nothing great.

Sighing, she pinches the sketch by the corner and reaches for her tattered portfolio. Her brow immediately knits together in confusion.

It's not there.

"What the hell?" She mutters, looking around the space she cleared just for sketching.

He exaggeratedly throws his body on the ground beside her, lying on his back with an exhausted sigh.

"I'm tired," he mumbles with closed eyes.

"Have you seen my folder?" she asks, still looking around them.

"What folder?"

"The one that has my sketches."

"Oh that. Yeah…" he makes a face, "I took it."

Her eyes dart back to him, burning holes right into his closed lids.

"Then give it back!" She says as if it were the most logical thing.

She's mad, he knew she would be.

"Can't"

"What do you mean you can't?"

Narrowing her eyes, she watches as he casually shrugs his shoulders, "Sold it."

"You _what_?!"

In an instant, she's no longer lying on her stomach and doesn't care to brush the dirt off of her already messy clothes.

"You're just kidding, right?!" She hopes he's joking for his own sake.

"Nope," His lips make a popping sound as he shakes his head. "Thirty bucks."

The tip of her foot drives straight into his side, giving him a swift kick in the ribs. He curls in pain and she's fuming.

"Those are my sketches, Luke!" She shouts as he sits up and glares in her direction.

"What's the big deal?!" Lucas rubs his side where he's sure a bruise will form by tomorrow. He shrugs again, "You can draw more."

"That's not the point!" She angrily shoves him as soon as he gets up. "It's my stuff and you stole it, you ass!!"

"Don't call me an ass!" He snaps, pointing a finger at her. "Don't act like you're better than me! Don't talk to me about stealing when I know you stole the stuff to make those stupid drawings!!"

Peyton fell silent knowing it was true. The checkout total would have been too much for the pastels, charcoal, and sketchbook, she just didn't have enough for it all. It wouldn't be the first time she's shoplifted. She knew that and she knew that he knew that.

"It doesn't matter. They were my sketches," She hisses.

Lucas rolls his eyes, "Lesson number…" he furrows his brow in thought then waves it off, "Well whatever lesson we're on—you don't get attached to anything or anyone. It's just easier that way."

Her hands ball into a tight fist as she watches him turn his back, "I really hate you."

"No you don't," He chuckles, switching off the battery-powered lamp and lowering himself on the makeshift bed on the floor.

"You don't know me."

"Maybe not," tucking his hands behind his head, he lies down, "What I _do _know is that we have to do what we have to do to get by. We need to eat, Peyt."

She blinks back her tears, her fists squeezing tightly at her sides. He was right. He was always right.

Lucas' eyes follow her as she quietly turns away from him, grabbing her pillow and dragging it as far from him as possible. Not once did she meet his gaze. Peyton zips her sweaters and then settles down on the floor, her back toward him, just hoping sleep would come tonight. His blue eyes choose to look up at the ceiling instead.

He couldn't feel bad for her, she needed to learn. None of this was new to him, Lucas has been on his own for two years now. She was just a puppy, so to speak, when he found her six months ago—sixteen, alone, afraid, and practically starving. Normally, he would have just walked away, nothing he hasn't seen before, to everyone their own…right?

But there was something about those sad green eyes, something about that lone messenger bag hanging at her side, something about the way she weakly smiled in his direction when she didn't even know him. No one smiled at him like that anymore, not since he left home anyway. There was something about her that day, something that made him take a second glance. In the end he took her under his wing. Protecting her from the world he lived in—he knew she needed him the moment she agreed to follow him without any hesitation. You never agree to go somewhere with a stranger, not on these streets at least.

Then again…she was the one who smiled at him. Maybe she _knew _he could be trusted. Maybe—

Lucas shakes away the thoughts as his eyes slowly fall back on her figure a few feet away. It was a bit chilly tonight. He was fine, but she only had a sweater and he knew how easily she loses heat. Scooping up the blankets and his pillow, he pulls them closer to Peyton and lies down next to her. The thin material of a tattered bed sheet brushes her cheek. Peyton turns to lie on her back and ends up staring right into a pair of blue eyes. She can't even comprehend how they shine so brightly in this darkness.

"What are you doing?" She asks, eyeing his sudden closeness.

"It's going to get cold," is his response and she nods, "and they…they're not stupid."

Her eyes fall to the bed sheet, deliberately hiding the sentimental attachment she had for her art.

"No, you were right," she mumbles.

"Your art is amazing. Everyday people struggle to sell their art, but yours sold within an hour. I know I shouldn't have taken your sketches like that…but we _need _the money, Peyt."

He doesn't do this. He doesn't apologize or reserve soft spots for people. He just doesn't. But he has—for her.

Peyton nods her head in understanding. She notices that he's only in his long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans; he notices her still shiver under the sheet. Lifting the bed sheet, she shifts close enough so they can share the cover. They're mere inches apart, face-to-face, green eyes looking into blue, and bodies as their only source of heat. But she keeps her arms closely tucked to her chest and he curls his underneath his pillow, they don't touch because that would just be weird.

…Right?

- - - -

One day he comes home angry.

Home.

It's a little wooden shack--blankets on the floor as beds and only a battery powered lamp, some days they even go to bed early or sit outside in the moonlight because money is too tight for batteries. Can they really call it a home?

Peyton would like to think so. It doesn't really compare to her previous living conditions, but this somehow feels better. She feels safe here. He makes her feel safe.

He's never asked her why she ran away or where she's from; she's actually glad he hasn't, so she doesn't ask him questions either. They've been living here for months now but they know next to nothing about each other. Right now, though, she just knows he's angry.

"You okay?" She asks with true concern when he harshly tosses his sweatshirt aside.

"They let me go," He mumbles, not meeting her eye, "Something about they can't have a minor without insurance working under dangerous conditions."

It scares her. Not because that job was their only source of income, though it wasn't much, but because he looked genuinely frustrated and worried too.

"But you've been there for two months. Why would the factory decide to let you go now?"

He shrugs, "Inventory I guess. I'm not even an legal employee."

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know! Alright?! I don't know Peyt!" He snaps, meeting her gaze. Yup, definitely angry. He tugs his worn leather jacket over his shoulders and she furrows her brow.

"Are…are you going out?"

"I need to unwind."

She pulls at the loose threads on her (more like his) long sleeved tee shirt, then asks softly, "Can I come with?"

The look he is giving her and how quickly his head turned in her direction nearly makes her regret even asking.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because…" He trails off. She looks hurt, but he's looking out for her well being. "Because it's just going to be me and a bunch of guys."

She shrugs, "So?"

"_So_? What do you mean 'so'?"

Lucas watches her intently as she looks down at her toes and those porcelain cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

"I don't mind, Lucas. I'm…I'm just lonely." She looks up at him and he can see the sadness in those emerald eyes. "I haven't got any friends to talk to."

Sometimes he forgets how little he knows her. Did she have a lot of friends from wherever she came from? Has she always been this lonely? Where _did_ she come from?

_Wasn't his company good enough?_

But he never asked those questions. Lesson Number 'whatever-number-they-were-on-now': You don't get attached, you won't get hurt.

"Peyton…"

"Please?" She cut him off. Damn those green eyes.

"Fine. But—"

Lucas is momentarily interrupted when Peyton leaps up with a squeal and throws her arms around him. They've never done this. They've never hugged, never even shook hands, never held hands (except for when Lucas would grab her by the wrist and pull her away from potential danger), or anything of the sort. They just didn't. He staggers back from the force and unconsciously places his hands on her hips to steady himself before they fall back.

"Thank you!" He clears his throat while dropping his hands in discomfort. She jumps back, still smiling, "Sorry."

All he can do is nod as she digs through her knapsack for something to change into.

-

The conditions are no better at this new place. It's bigger, yes—but the abandoned house is just as rundown as their little shack a few blocks away. Either way, Peyton would take anything if it meant meeting new people, and Lucas is only here for the beer.

He takes another swig from the bottle as his blue eyes search for her. She's talking to Skills. He's okay with that. Skills isn't a bad kid, he's not a bad kid at all—his family just struggles to keep their head above water. He doesn't fit in with the kids at school, in elementary school they teased him about his secondhand clothes and sacked lunches. Eventually he stopped trying to make friends there.

Even though everyone else saw these kids as juvenile delinquents, the truth is…they were all just a bunch of kids trying to get by.

"Who's the chick talking to Skills?" A voice asks as Lucas tears his gaze away from Peyton and Skills.

He rolls his eyes, "Peyton. Why?"

"Mmmhhm," the crude hum leaves his lips. He is looking Peyton up and down and it sickens Lucas, "Fresh meat."

Lucas doesn't like that. Not one bit.

"I don't think so, man," He says firmly, taking another swig.

"Oh, I'm sorry…is she a relative of yours?"

"No."

"Taken?"

"No."

"A fuck buddy?"

"_No_."

The guy shrugs, "Fine. I get dibs."

Narrowing his eyes, Lucas turns to face him, "You're not getting _anything_. She's not like that."

"Bet I can change that."

His nostrils flare in anger. He doesn't even realize what he is doing until they're both throwing punches at each other. It takes a couple people to pull them apart and Skills is the one dragging Lucas outside.

Skills watches the blue-eyed blonde pace back and forth on the lawn. He's still fuming and fighting against labored breaths.

"Come on, Luke. Calm yo' ass down!"

He opens his mouth, ready to go on a heated rant, and then he sees Peyton step out of the house. He doesn't even wait for her to come to him; Lucas swiftly walks past Skills and grabs the curly blonde by the arm.

"We're leaving," he mutters as he tugs her down the path.

"Lucas, wait!" She struggles to keep up with his hurried steps.

"Luke!!" Skills calls out.

"I knew I shouldn't have brought you. You're not ready for this yet."

"Wait, wait," she yanked out of his grip, forcing Lucas to look back quizzically, "What are you talking about? I didn't do anything!"

"You just don't belong here, Peyt!"

"I was getting along just fine until _you _started getting into random fights! What's the matter with you?!"

He steps closer to her, "The problem is that you're not making it any easier on me to look out for you!"

"I never asked you to! I can take care of myself!"

"Oh please! You wouldn't make it a day on your own without me. Believe me."

Her face contorts in anger. She's charging past him, making sure to bump shoulders none-too-lightly.

"Screw you!"

"Peyton." Lucas rolls his eyes as he turns to follow her down the sidewalk.

When she twists around there's venom in her eyes and she shoves him, "I said _screw you_."

He holds up his hands in surrender. With one last glare in his direction, Peyton continues walking away. Not long after, she hears the sound of his boots against the pavement, just trailing a few feet behind at a safe distance. She hasn't said anything until a familiar smell filters into the air.

Lucas wasn't paying attention, so when he runs into her—for she had apparently stopped walking—his blue eyes stare into her irritated green ones. He doesn't know why she's stopped, or why she's looking at him like she's about to chew his face off, or _why_ in the_ world_ he's afraid of this Shirley Templed looking girl.

She lifts a hand, but he doesn't flinch because he's been hit before (no, not by her), and he fully expects her to lay him out on the floor right now. But instead of feeling the sting of her hand coming in contact with his cheek, her thumb and index finger pluck the lit cigarette from between his lips and tosses it to the ground. Before he can even voice a protest or even a few profane words, Peyton takes a step closer and pokes a finger to his chest.

"If I need you as much as you say I do, then I'd appreciate it if you stuck around long enough to. I can't have you keeling over from sucking on a cancer stick."

And just like that she turns back around. Lucas chuckles lightly, he bends down to retrieve his still lit cigarette. He's cut a few inches short when the tip of her black and white converse shoe grinds the flame out against the pavement. His jaw falls open with a disbelieving look in her direction.

"I just saved your life," she kinks an eyebrow with a one-sided grin, "You can thank me now or later."

The way she said it and how she was looking directly into his eyes, he just had to grin too.

"Whatever. Come on," he lightly jabs her side with his elbow, "Let's go home kid."

"I'm only three months younger than you," she points out as they fall into step, side-by-side.

"Still a kid," he says. The light, playful banter returning between them, "I hope you know that was my last cigarette."

"Good," she nods curtly before their eyes meet in the middle, "then starting today you're quitting."

Lucas chuckles with a shake of his head. She sure is something. Not many people would confront him in the way she has, they're too intimidated by his tough façade. But somehow she knew it was just that, a façade. Maybe it happened the same way she occupied the only soft spot left in his heart.

She got there without even trying.

- - - -

It's been 72 days since his last cigarette. He noticed Peyton meant business about his smoking habits when she started to invest in packets of spearmint gum. Any time she would see him becoming restless or searching his pockets for a cigarette, she'd simply hand him a stick (or two…or three) of gum. It's not the same, and most days he doesn't even think it help, but he sees her trying so he figures he should try too.

"Do you ever _not _draw?" Lucas asks out of the blue.

She's on her stomach, on top of a flimsy sleeping bag (they found it just days before), and a new sketch book in front of her. He has been trying to patch up that loose board on the shack, but the sound of her pencil scratching across a blank page and that strip of skin where her tee shirt and jeans don't quite meet are all pretty distracting.

Peyton shakes her head, tangled curls swaying with the movement, "Nope. Can't stop."

"Why?" He chuckles as he looks for something to hammer the nail.

"We need the money, especially with your new chewing gum habit," She pauses to smile up at him.

"Peyton," he gives up the search as a wave of guilt washes over him, "You don't have to do that. I didn't know you were _buying_ the gum!"

"It's okay," she shrugs it off and continues to add color to the sketch, "Besides, it helps me get this stuff," she motions to the new art supplies that have grown in quantity.

"You're making enough money to buy them now?"

Peyton's cheeks turn crimson, "Um, no, not exactly. I pay for a pack of gum and a pencil or two, but it's less suspicious if I'm paying for something instead of coming and going 'empty handed' all the time."

He can tell she's not proud of shoplifting and he's not proud that she's actually paying for him to quit smoking. But she's right, they need the money. After being let go from his temporary job, her art has been the only means to make money as of late. He just wishes that there was a better way. Sometimes he wants to tell her to go back home, where he's sure she had a better life than this.

But he can't. He has started to enjoy her company and he's not ready to give that up yet. He's not ready to give _her _up yet.

"Let's go," he abruptly holds out his hand and she looks up confused.

"Huh?"

A soft chuckle escapes his lips, "Come on, get up. I'm going to do something to repay you."

She eyes his outstretched hand skeptically and it slightly wounds him that she seems hesitant. But Lucas helps her up when she places her hand in his palm.

They have been walking for quite some time. Peyton feels like hours have passed by when he finally stops in front of a tall fence. Lucas turns to her with a wide grin and eyes full of excitement; she's never seen him in such high spirits.

"Do you trust me?" He asks.

This is the happiest she's ever seen him, so she can't help but nod. He nods in return and before she knows what's happening, Lucas is climbing the fence. Peyton suddenly feels like they shouldn't be doing this and starts to frantically look around.

"Lucas!" She hisses when he lands on his hands and feet on the other side.

"You said you trusted me. Now come on, jump over. I'll catch you."

"Lucas."

"Peyton."

"Luuke!"

"Peyt!"

He's mocking her and she hates it, he knows she hates it. She glares at him through the fence and he just raises his eyebrows, waiting. It's like he's challenging her and she isn't very fond of that look on his face, almost like he doesn't believe she'll do it.

"Fine!" She grinds out through clenched teeth.

One foot pokes through the hole in the fence while two hands grasp the wire to pull up her weight. Once she reaches the top, Lucas holds his breath when she starts to teeter for a second.

"Just jump!" He calls out through cupped hands.

Both legs make it over the top and she takes a deep breath, giving him a nervous glance. But he holds his hands out, reassuring that he's ready to catch her if needed.

So, she lets go.

Peyton lands on her feet but Lucas still reaches out to catch her, he knows how clumsy she can be. She begins to lose her footing and falls forward. His large, strong hands wrap around her tiny waist to help steady her. Her small hands flatten against his firm chest as the rest of her body presses up against him; she's so close that he can smell her.

She smells _good_.

He has no idea how she can smell that good when living the life that they have, but she does smell good and he likes it. And he can't say he hates how the length of her body molds perfectly to his when pressed up against him like that.

For a moment she doesn't realize where she is, who she's with, or what she's doing when she looks up at him.

Have his eyes always been that blue? Was he always that tall? Did his lips always look that smooth? And what in god's name kind of muscles did he have under this hoodie?!

She looks away, knowing her cheeks just turned pink—she's all flustered and she kind of hates that he can probably tell.

Of course he can, but he's too busy studying her soft skin and all those colored specks in her green eyes. He's never noticed how green they were, or how they weren't just green but a green, gold, yellow, and orange mosaic. If he could sketch half as well as she did, he'd love to draw her eyes and never draw another damn thing in his life ever again

But she looks away, breaking their gaze, and the pink filling the complexion of her cheeks makes him suddenly feel like a creep. So he lets go. They take a step back from each other and clear their throats at the same time.

"…So?" She asks, trying to brush off the awkward moment.

At first he forgets, but then he remembers where they are and the smile is back. This time he doesn't wait for her to grab his hand, Lucas just reaches out for hers and tugs her along. To say his bold gesture was shocking would be an understatement. He's never held her hand before, not unless it was in a protective situation and that was just her wrist, but this felt different—like he _wanted_ to hold her hand. And she kind of liked it. So she said nothing and let him pull her along to wherever he was leading her.

They round a fenced barricade. Her brow furrows when a stage comes into view, and somehow they are as close as they could possibly be to the side of the stage.

"Luke, where are we?"

"Where do you think?"

She looks up at the stage again and sees the microphone stand and a band set up.

"A…a concert?" Her eyes widened and she punches his arm, "Did you just make me sneak into a concert?!"

"Not just any concert," He grins, rubbing his arm in false hurt.

Peyton is ready to ask what he meant by that, when a voice with a southern twang comes booming from the speakers.

"How y'all doin' tonight?" The whole crowd cheers in response and the announcer continues, "Glad to know y'all are hyped! So I'll just shut my trap and we'll get this show started! Without further adieu, let's have a warm welcome to our guests tonight—The Cure!!"

Lucas is still beaming from ear to ear when Peyton's wide eyes jerk in his direction. The angry furrow in her brow smoothed out in awe and a short laugh fell from her smiling lips.

"The Cure?! Lucas, they're my favorite band! How did you know?!"

He simply shrugs a shoulder, "When we first met I saw the sticker on your sketchbook. Figured you'd like it."

"Luke," she drags out the shortened version of his name with affection.

Then she hugs him. Standing on her tippy toes and fully wrapping her arms around his neck. This time he doesn't hesitate to reciprocate the gesture. One of his arms encircles her waist while the other cups the back of her neck. They stay that way for a while; holding each other in an embrace, smiling, and savoring an infrequent moment of affection.

They've held hands, they've hugged, and they've noticed things about each other that they never noticed before.

What else was left?

When the first notes are played, their moment is cut short. Lucas is a little upset that he was robbed of getting a good whiff of her scent—her hair and skin smells amazing—but he was willing to make the sacrifice as soon as he saw the smile on her face. That sparkle of excitement in her eye.

The band is on their fourth song. She has sung and danced along to all of them, but she notices a strange look on Lucas' face. He seems a little distant and uncomfortable.

"Hey," she furrows her brow in concern and he looks at her, trying to fake a smile, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing. Tell me."

He winces, "I…um…I don't like The Cure."

"What?!"

"I don't know, it's just kind of whiny and depressing."

"Seriously?" She deadpans and he nods with a pained look on his face. "Oh, come on!"

He shakes his head, but she's smiling and he can't help but smile too. That smile quickly fades when she fully turns, facing him, singing the lyrics and swaying side-to-side to the beat of the song.

_Remembering you  
Standing quiet in the rain  
As I ran to your heart to be near  
And we kissed as the sky fell in  
Holding you close  
How I always held close in your fear_

She reaches for his hand as he stands there in embarrassment, "Come on, Luke! Dance with me!"

_Remembering you  
Running soft through the night  
You were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow  
And you screamed at the make-believe  
Screamed at the sky  
and you finally found all your courage  
to let it all go_

He swears, it's those damn gorgeous eyes—those _green _eyes…he means _green_ eyes.

He, half-heartedly, starts swaying in time with her and Peyton laughs in triumph. She takes the spot next to him and they continue moving to the music, still holding hands until the song ends.

They laughed, they danced, and they sang along (but he'll never admit to it) to all the songs for the rest of the night.

This felt nice. _Really _nice.

- - - -

She's taken off guard when he walks in angry—_again_.

"What's your name?" He simply asks and she looks at him like he's crazy.

"…_Peyton_."

That was a dumb question.

"No," he says firmly as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, "What's your name?! Your _full _name!"

She swallows hard. They've never talked about this and she liked it that way.

"Why?" She asks softly, avoiding his accusing eyes. Today's newspaper makes a harsh slapping sound when he tosses it in front of him. Her picture is on the front page.

"Wolfe! You're Peyton _Wolfe_! As in Mick Wolfe's _daughter_?!"

Her eyes fill with tears as she opens her mouth to defend herself, but what's the use—he already knows.

"Yes." She answers softly.

With pursed lips and flared nostrils, Lucas lets out a frustrated growl as he turns away. Peyton blinks a few tears back, looking down at the news headline about Mick Wolfe's missing daughter.

"This whole time I thought you needed help. That you had no one and _I_ was the one who could help you," he's pacing the room as he shouts, "When all along you're probably some spoiled brat that just ran away from home because Daddy didn't give her a car for her sixteenth birthday!"

Her head snaps up, "Is…is that what you think of me?"

"They're _looking _for you Peyton! What the hell are you doing here?!"

"So what? So they're looking for me, big deal! What difference does that make?!"

"You're some rock legends _daughter_!" Lucas gets so close that she has to lean back from the invasion of personal space, "You can go home if you want to; you don't have to live like this! There are people like me who don't have a choice!"

"You don't know anything about me!" She cries, standing abruptly and forcing him a few steps back, "Who are you to judge and compare my life to yours when you know _nothing_?!"

"I'm a bastard son," Lucas snaps. It's the first time they're talking about any of this so Peyton falls silent and just listens, "The only father I've ever known was his brother, my Uncle Keith, but daddy dearest murdered him," he can see the sympathy in Peyton's eyes and he hates it, "My mom never believed me and two years ago she ended up marrying the murderous son-of-a-bitch. I refuse to live under the same roof as a deadbeat murderer and a mother who doesn't believe her own son. I _**refuse**_. But you don't see them looking for me, do you?"

"Lucas—"

He raises a hand to stop her.

"Just do me a favor, go back to wherever you came from Peyton. I don't know why you left but you should go back to your pampered life and sort out whatever issues you've got."

"You really think you've got me all figured out, don't you?" She says with a hollow laugh, "Fine, think whatever you want. I don't need this."

He watches as she begins to gather her sketches and stuffs them into a new folder. There's not an ounce of guilt in his bone. He should have known that she wasn't like the rest of them. He knew all along that they were nothing alike.

"No, let's hear it, Peyt. Why _did_ you leave? Hm?" There's a hint of mockery in his tone as he follows her around the room. He doesn't exactly know why he's being such a jerk about it, all he knows is that he feels like he's been lied to.

"You don't deserve to hear it," Peyton rasps lowly as she pushes past him and walks out.

But he's not letting this go without an answer, so he follows her.

"Let me guess: Was I right about the car? Or maybe Daddy didn't pay enough attention to the little princess? Or how about this!—"

She jerks back around and swings her messenger bag at him, "Shut up! Okay? Just…shut the fuck up!"

But Lucas doesn't back down. He never does. But maybe the tears falling from her lashes should have been a sign that he should have.

"Oooh, did I hit a nerve? Which one was it? The attention one?"

"You self-righteous asshole, take another look at that newspaper before you say another word to me," her voice is low and gravelly, she's furious and something tells Lucas he should run for his life but he doesn't, "I bet all the money in your pocket—which probably only adds up to a quarter and a stick of gum—that **nowhere** in that article, not **one** statement is given by my so-called dad. That's because he doesn't give a shit, Luke, he hasn't for seventeen years. Just because I have his last name doesn't mean a _thing_! I've never even met the guy in person! The only reason my name and face might be on that front page is because my drug-addict of a mother submitted a missing persons report after having left over a _year _ago."

Fuck.

He is _such _a _dick_.

And he can't even say a damn thing to make any of this go away.

"Well, there you go! You happy now?!" She lets out an emotionless laugh and something clenches in his chest, "It turns out that I know more about living on the streets and how to live a shitty low-income life more than you do. Maybe _you_ are the one who needs to get over the obvious daddy issues and go back home."

If looks could kill, Lucas would have been done for with that last glare Peyton shot over her shoulder.

But he still wasn't ready to let her go.

He jogs after her and grabs her by the elbow, "Peyton! I'm—"

"You're sorry, yeah I know. You and everyone else who takes one look at me. Everyone thinks I'm some dumb blonde who doesn't know shit," She yanks her arm out of his grasp and shoves his shoulder, "I don't need them, I don't need my mom or Mick, and I _certainly_ don't need you!"

"Peyt!"

This time she didn't bother turning back around. All he got in response was Peyton giving him the middle finger as she walked away.

- - - -

He really didn't think she would do it. He let her go thinking she only needed a few hours to cool off. It's been a week now and she still hasn't come home. Sometimes he has to laugh at himself for even thinking of it as _their _home now.

He misses her, it was all his fault. He should have listened, then maybe she wouldn't have left and he wouldn't be worried about her all the damn time.

But despite what he thinks, she's fine on her own. She's done this before, longer than he has actually.

If only she could find a new inspiration for her drawings, everything would be perfect. All she can draw lately are blue eyes and sketches of Lucas. She can't really complain though. These sketches have become her best sellers—one person even bought four of them for a total of a hundred dollars.

Her only concern at the moment was finding somewhere to sleep. It was drizzling and she didn't exactly want to sleep on a wet park bench. Scoping out the area for a dry place to lie down, Peyton was caught off guard when a strong pair of arms pull her into a dark alley.

"Ouch, what the hell!" She shouts when she's being held up against a rough brick wall.

"What's a pretty thing like you walking around all by her lonesome self?"

This guy's breath reeks and he is leaning in far too close for comfort.

"I don't want any trouble, just let me go and I'll give you all the money I've got," She reasons but it falls on deaf ears.

She feels his rough hand graze her skin as he is pushing the hem of her sweater up. Peyton shoves him away and puts up a struggle, but he's far too strong for her. Fear begins to constrict her throat and chest when he holds a sharpened knife to her throat. His chapped lips come in contact with her neck. His free hand forcefully pushes its way under her sweater and tee shirt.

"Stop it!!" She screams, mindful of the knife pressing against her skin, but still pushing against his bulky body in vain. His calloused hand comes out from under her top and muffles her cries. Her tearful eyes squeeze shut, and then Peyton hears it.

"Get off of her, you sick son of a bitch!"

Her eyes snap open in time to see Lucas yanking the offender off and discarding him to the ground. Where he came from—she had no clue but she was so grateful that he did come. It was dark out, but she still caught a glimpse of the crazed look in those blue eyes as fists started flying. Peyton just kept herself pinned up against the brick wall, too afraid to move as her eyes followed the glint of the blade, flashing in the moonlight. The fight ended up on the floor, but she couldn't make out who had the upper hand until Lucas emerges on top, driving his knuckles into the assailant's face repeatedly in a fury.

The guy is out cold, and although he was physically drained, Lucas leaps to his feet and sweeps Peyton into his arms, pulling her in tightly to his chest. It was only then that she allows herself to cry. He holds her at arm's length to inspect her, making sure there wasn't a scratch, bump, or bruise on her.

"Are you okay? Did he—are you—he didn't--?"

She shakes her head quickly, her body still shaking out of shock. Somewhat satisfied with her answer, Lucas brings her back into his arms and she clings to his body for dear life. It almost feels like hug, one that is much more intimate than the last one they shared. His hand is buried wrist deep in her wet curls as he cups the back of her neck and inhales the scent of her hair, just to know that she's real and that she's safe.

"Let's get you out of here," he mumbles, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and guiding her out of the alley.

They only make it as far as the park when Lucas suddenly drops on a nearby bench. He winces and Peyton sees his right hand clutching the left side of his torso. She doesn't even wait to ask; she just pulls his bloody right hand away and gasps.

"It's not that bad, really." He smiles weakly as she eyes the large rip in his tee shirt and blood seeping through the material.

"Not that bad? Lucas, you've-you've been _stabbed_!" She says sternly.

His hands are quick to deter hers when she reaches for the hem of his tee shirt.

"Peyton, stop. It's just a flesh wound."

"Shut up, Luke. You don't always know everything."

Something about that angry look in her eye and the low, growling jab at his ego made Lucas smile. It was short lived, however, when she peels the tee shirt away from his skin and he hisses in pain. Peyton doesn't even have time to admire the rock hard body hiding beneath the clothes, her eyes go straight to the wound on his left side and she shakes her head. He watches her pull the sweatshirt up over her head and then uses it to apply pressure. He grunts in another wave of pain.

"You need help. There's too much blood."

Lucas shakes his head, "No, I'm fine. Really, Peyton, I'm fine!"

"Bullshit. I'm getting help."

"_How_?!"

That was a really good question. They were only a couple of minors without insurance or any money for that matter. If they showed up at the hospital with no money and no parents, Lucas' parents would surely be contacted somehow and…well, Peyton…who knows what they would do with her. She just knew he didn't want to go home. He really needed the help, though. His blue eyes widened considerably when she reached around, near the back of the waistband of his jeans. He didn't even know she knew about it.

"Peyt! Wait, Peyton!" He calls out, trying to stand as she starts walking away. When she hears him cry out in pain she turns back around, and points a finger at him.

"Don't move, I'll be back."

"Peyton!" He calls out again, but she keeps walking.

-

She emerges from the supply closet, her messenger bag stuffed with all the medical supplies she could fit. It kind of freaks her out that she's become a pro at being stealthy, but it comes in handy during times like these. As soon as Peyton makes it through the exit and into the parking lot, a voice stops her.

"Excuse me, miss?" She turns to see a young woman in a white lab coat, standing by a car, eyeing her, "Do you need help with something."

Peyton just shakes her head, her voice seems to have lost all function and so have her feet.

"Are you okay?"

"I—my friend…he needs help," is all Peyton can say.

"Is he here?" Peyton shakes her head again, "Well you should be taking him to the emergency room, _not _stealing our supplies."

"W-we haven't any money to pay. Can…can you help? Please?"

The woman shakes her head, "I'm sorry miss. You need to have him come here and check into the emergency room."

"_Please_!" Peyton begs.

"I can't help you. I'm sorry."

Normally, Peyton would just let it go, but this time she can't. Lucas is counting on her.

He needs her.

The woman pulls out her car keys and turns her back to Peyton. Just as she inserts the key, she hears a click that didn't come from the door unlocking. She turns and a teary-eyed Peyton is pointing a gun in her direction.

"I really, _really _need your help," Peyton can't control her shaky voice, but the gun is enough to make the woman nod mutedly.

-

He must have dozed off while Peyton was away. When he opened his eyes he was on the floor, a surge of pain on his side radiated throughout his body like a wildfire. Crying out and body jerking, he felt a pair of hands touch his face.

"Shhh, Lucas, you are going to be just fine. We haven't got anything to numb you up but I need to give you stitches."

That wasn't Peyton's voice, even though he could faintly make out a head of blonde hair in front of him. He can tell it's not Peyton's blonde hair. Looking beside the strange woman, he found the blonde he was looking for, just standing there—tears streaming down her face and holding his gun loosely in her right hand.

"Peyt…Peyt—"

"I need you to relax," The woman sooths as she picks up the needle and thread with a gloved hand. Lucas shakes his head and reaches out for Peyton. In an instant she is by his side, holding his hand and brushing the hair away from his clammy forehead. The gun, abandoned and forgotten, lay on the ground beside her.

"I'm right here, shh. Just squeeze my hand if it hurts too much, alright?"

He nods weakly and she gives him a small smile. Lucas hisses in pain once more and his grip on Peyton's hand tightens as the woman begins threading the needle through his skin. The circulation to Peyton's hand is being limited, but she doesn't complain, not once.

"Okay, you're all done. You did a fine job," The woman kindly smiles at them. She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a pen and a pad of some sorts. Tearing off the top sheet, after scribbling on it for a few seconds, she hands it to Peyton, "He should take some antibiotics. You don't want him to get an infection."

Peyton warily accepts the prescription, whispering a thank you. Her green eyes momentarily trail down to the abandoned gun beside her, and then look back up at the woman who is now standing. The woman sees the apologetic look and worry in Peyton's eyes.

"I won't tell anyone, just don't do it again." She tells her sternly.

Peyton just nods as she looks back down at Lucas. She can feel his chest expand with each breath; the pain completely leaving him exhausted him. The woman starts to walk away when Peyton looks back up and calls after her.

"I-I'm sorry," the woman turns, "but…can I…what's your name?"

She smiles, "Izzie, Isobel Stevens."

Peyton smiles back kindly, "Thank you, Izzie."

Her green eyes fall back to Lucas' sleeping form in her arms. She takes her sweater, discarded to the side when Izzie started stitching, and places it underneath his head as a pillow. Stretching out beside him, Peyton cautiously curls into his right side and rests her head in the nook between his chest and shoulder.

In the morning, if he asks, she'd stick to the story that she was only trying to keep him warm.

- - - -

He's staring at her from afar and he can't stop smiling. She came back, even though the self-depreciating side of him believes it's out of guilt, but things have been good between them. There are no more secrets between them anymore.

Well, no past related secrets. Feelings—now that's a different story.

Lucas walks up behind her, bends down, and rests his chin on her shoulder. She's startled at first, then smiles when she looks at him over her shoulder.

"Hey," she greets, turning back to the sketch at hand.

"Hey you," he side bumps their heads together. "Seriously, do you ever stop?"

Peyton scrunches her nose and shakes her head, "Nah. Besides, those meds weren't cheap."

"Yeah, sorry," he makes a face.

"Lucas, you saved me at your own expense. The least I could do was sell a couple of drawings to fill your prescription."

He takes a seat next to her on the bench and just watches as she finishes shading.

"Since when do you draw my picture?" He asks, smiling.

Peyton shrugs, her cheeks turning pink, "I, um, it's…they're the ones that sell the best."

He kinks an eye brow, "_Really_?"

"Shut up," she laughs, smacking him in the chest with the back of her sketchbook.

He notices how her eyes seem to gravitate to the same house in front of the park. His smile fades when he realizes what's been captivating her—there was a couple, or maybe even mutual friends, dressed in formal clothing and posing for pictures. They were getting ready for prom, no doubt.

"Peyton?"

She tears her eyes away and looks at him, "Hm?"

"Were you in school? I mean…before you left L.A. and came out here, did you go to school?"

"Oh, um…" Her green eyes fall as she picks at the worn edges of the book, "I did. But…I started to miss a lot of days because I had to take care of my mom. I started to fall behind and…well, I guess I didn't see the point anymore so I just stopped going after my freshman year."

He nodded solemnly, "Do you ever miss it?"

"School?" He nods again, "I wouldn't say I miss it. More like…I wish I had the _option _to miss it," they're silent for a few seconds. "Do you ever miss it?"

Lucas takes a deep breath and shrugs, "I…I really don't think about it much."

Her eyes flicker back to that same house for a second before she turns to a new page and starts sketching once again.

-

"Lucas!" She calls out as she pushes a branch out of the way. Lucas had left Peyton a cryptic message in her sketchbook (she'll yell at him about that later) telling her to put on that dark blue dress from the chest and to meet him at their spot.

One day, when they were passing by a high school, Peyton squealed in delight upon seeing the drama club's old costumes hanging out of a large chest, ready for trash pick-up. Lucas had rolled his eyes, saying it was useless and they weren't carrying that thing back to the house. But one look into those golden-green eyes of hers and he caved.

So now it was the middle of the night, it was dark, and she was wandering in a secluded part of the park wearing a sparkling blue dress. She mumbles a few profanities as she steps over a rather large log and dodges a squirrel scurrying past.

"Luke! I'm so going to kill you for making me do this!"

"Peyt, over here!"

She hears him and follows his voice. Ready to give him an ear full, Peyton swats a low branch out of the way but the words die on her lips as soon as she makes it into the clearing. Lucas is standing in 'their spot'—underneath a lonesome, leafless tree, now decorated in flickering white Christmas lights (she doesn't care that some of the bulbs have burned out)—and he's wearing a nice pair of black slacks and a black button up dress shirt. She recognizes the attire from the costumes. She can even tell he actually put some effort in styling his messy blonde hair.

"Lucas…"

He walks up to her and holds out a hand, "Peyton, will you go to prom with me?"

She hated being such a girl, but she couldn't help it if her breath caught in her throat and if tears were forming in her eyes. So maybe the world _didn't_ stop spinning for that split second, but it sure felt like it did to Peyton. The corners of her lip twitch upward and the soft laugh coming from her lips puts butterflies in his stomach. Lucas does _not_ get butterflies, but anything for Peyton…_anything_.

The golden spirals—they weren't a tangled mess anymore—surrounding her face bounce as she nods her head. Placing her hand in his, he leads her to that very spot beneath the tree and they're both smiling.

"Wait here," he tells her as he moves closer to the tree.

Another soft laugh echoes in his direction when she watches him push play on a small stereo. She wouldn't dare complain about the one bad speaker that only picks up static, she really doesn't care about that. He's sure he'll never tell her how many pockets he had to pick just afford the batteries for the stereo (the CD came with a five finger discount, of course). But he's pretty sure that if she found out, she wouldn't mind at all. Not when she's smiling like that anyway.

Lucas slowly steps in front of her, boldly placing a hand on her lower back and pulling her close. She wraps an arm around his shoulder and places the opposite hand in his. They start slow dancing to the music. He's never seen her so bashful before, but he swears it's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

She finally stops avoiding his eyes (because the entire time he just couldn't resist looking at her), looking up at him through her thick eyelashes. His breath catches in his throat. His heart is pumping loudly in his ears. At that point, nothing can stop the following words from spilling past his lips.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers in awe. Her eyes light up and those perfect lips slowly form a smile.

And when her hand moves from his upper back to rest behind his neck, and her fingers thread through the soft hairs there, Lucas takes that as an 'okay' to do what he's wanted to do for the longest time. Their eyes stay connected until the moment their lips touch. The butterflies in her stomach flutter wildly and her head is spinning. His tongue moves to part her lips, she has no need to put up a fight so she accepts his request. The kiss deepens and their hands suddenly have a mind of their own.

Peyton immediately goes for the hem of his dress shirt, pulling it out of the slacks and slipping her cold hands underneath to touch the warm, taut flesh of his abs. She's wanted to touch him there since the day he came to her rescue. She wasn't about to miss her chance now.

Her touch elicits a low moan from the back of his throat as he pulls her closer, so close that they can feel each other's racing heart between them. Her hands leave his skin to fumble with the buttons of his shirt. He gently guides her head to the side, for better access to her neck, and his lips and tongue start to work on her pulse point. She gasps in pleasure, eyes falling shut, and all thoughts of buttons are forgotten.

His hand is still buried deep in her curls as the other slowly travels down her back—grasping the zipper of her dress between his thumb and forefinger on his way, and continuing his path. The mere sound of her dress being unzipped makes Peyton reach for his belt and she swiftly unbuckles it.

But he always seems to have the upper hand. The zipper of her dress finally stops past her lower back, exposing an ample amount of creamy, soft skin and the top of her panties. His fingers slip under the waistband of the black material, massaging the skin of her lower back. He feels her involuntarily shiver under his touch and his lips grin against her neck.

Two could play at that game.

In a flurry of movement, Peyton simultaneously unbuttons and unzips his pants at the same time, dropping his slacks to his ankles. Backing him up into the tree, her tongue flicks out to bring his earlobe to her mouth and she gently grazes the soft flesh between her teeth. To add to his torment, Peyton hikes a leg over his hip and grinds into his obvious arousal.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Lucas mumbles breathlessly as his head falls back against the tree trunk.

He blindly searches for the straps of her dress and pushes them off her shoulders. She pulls back and looks deeply into his blue eyes—now many shades darker. Another step back is taken as she holds her dress up with her forearm. She suddenly becomes bashful again.

"Lucas…" She says softly.

He takes a few steps to close the distance, only because he can't stand being so far from her anymore.

"Peyt."

"I-I need to say something," She says, the butterflies now working full-time when his hands fall to her hips once again.

"Anything," He whispers, eyeing her lips.

"I love you."

His eyes snap up to hers to see green shrouded in fear and that very emotion she just declared. His heart swells, he doesn't exactly know with what, but he can just feel it expanding in his chest. Their lips collide once more as he lifts her off the ground and her arms wrap around his neck. The blue material whispers to the floor, leaving Peyton in only her black panties. Lucas starts to lower them to the ground, her legs encircling his hips, shimming his boxers down and off.

His hand cradles the back of her head, taking great care as he lays Peyton on her back. Blue eyes drink her in, from head to toe, and he has to remind himself to stay in control. She's so beautiful. He never breaks eye contact as his fingers hook under the black material, dragging it over her hips, down her legs, and courteously setting it aside for her.

They're both nervous now, he can see her chest heaving with quick breaths and she can see his hands trembling. It's not his first time, it's not her first time—they both know that—but it's _their_ first time _together_.

And it's a big deal.

He kisses her with all he's got. The kiss breaks as she gasps for air and he groans upon entrance. Their breathing picks up pace even though he still hasn't moved, and she hasn't tried to force him to move either.

His head lifts from the crook of her neck and he looks into her eyes. The other hand is still cradling the back of her head, so he uses his free hand to brush the curls away from her moist skin. His hand lingers on her cheek, thumb tracing circles on her smooth cheek bone.

And then he smiles at her.

"I…I love you too." He says softly.

She feels as if she could cry just from hearing him say those words. But she won't cry, she just pulls him down by the lapels of the shirt he's still wearing and kisses him with fervor. Her hands tug at the opening of his shirt and the remaining buttons pop, leaving his torso exposed to her touch. She trails her hands over his hard chest until it leads her to his abs. There she traces each crevice of his muscles with the pad of her fingertips. The feel of her hands on his tight skin urges Lucas to thrust. The sensation is amazing—for both of them.

They don't exactly know what this means or what it will change…all they know is that for the first time in their life…this actually feels right.

- - - -

She eyes him timidly when she walks in. Lucas puts down the book he's reading and he smiles at her.

"Hey, how'd it go out there today?" He asks, making room for her as she settles on his lap.

"I, um…we need to talk, Luke," she plays with the strings of his hoodie as she avoids his questioning gaze.

"Okay," he drags out, "What's this about?"

"Me…maybe us too."

He doesn't like the sound of that so he presses a kiss to her temple for good measure.

"What's going on, Peyt?"

"Remember how I told you about that guy who pays tons and tons of money for my work?"

He's still completely lost, "Yeah."

"Well…" she trails off, looking into his eyes to gauge his reaction, "He said he can help me get into an art school. One where he teaches. Full-ride…living expenses included."

"Peyton, that's great!" he laughs as he pecks her lips, but she's not showing the same enthusiasm and that scares him.

"Lucas…this school is in Washington." His face drops subtly, "And…and I think I want to go."

His face really drops, "Oh."

He makes a move to get up and they both stand. Lucas paces the floor silently for a few moments, and then he just stops to look at her.

"So…I guess this is it then, huh?"

"Lucas—"

"I mean, I knew you were always meant to go on and do bigger and better things but…I'm in love with you and I didn't plan on falling in love with you. It just happened and now that you're leaving I—"

"Lucas!"

He stops rambling. The smile on her face is confusing him.

"I, I want you to come with me."

He's not sure he heard her right, "What?"

"I told him I'm not going anywhere without my boyfriend, if he wants me to come then you're coming with me too." She tilts her head in amusement, "He said 'Okay', Luke. We can finally leave this place."

It's like someone put earmuffs on him, her voice sounds so distant.

He really can't believe the greatness that is Peyton.

His lips twitch slightly. Then a full-out Lucas grin emerges. He rushes forward and kisses her through the laughter emanating from her lips.

"Peyton, baby," he kisses her again, "you are amazing," and then again, "you know that? Amazing!"

She giggles into his neck and pulls back to kiss his nose, "Well, it wouldn't have happened at all if you didn't _steal _my art in the first place! You jackass."

He groans at the memory as he keeps her wrapped up in his arms, "Face it, you loved me even then."

"Just a little."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," She whispers as their lips meet again for a languid kiss.

**FIN**

**

* * *

  
**

_-Song lyrics: The Cure – "Pictures of You"_


End file.
